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Archive for the ‘PHOTOS’ Category

Have you noticed us getting up earlier and going to sleep sooner on our cams? That’s (partly) because starting September 3rd I’m going to get up early to head over to the cabin we’re (good news!) officially renting to do off-cam no-internet work sans distractions. Normally I quickly grow disgusted with a morning-person routine, but now it seems totally different knowing there’s a purpose to it.

It rained heavily on Thursday. If I hadn’t gotten up at seven in the morning, excited about the possibilities of such early rising once the cabin time begins, I’d have never known there was any blue sky to be had that day. I’d have missed seeing this moon:

Blessing Bestowed from the West

There’s a place – a real live place – where women artists can apply for residencies. Actually, there are lots of places like that, where those kinds of people can get free lodging in inspiring locations to focus on their work, but the one I’m thinking of is SUPER DREAMY . . . fucking storybook-land perfection in terms of its tiny private artfully-crafted houses (each resident has one all to herself) and woodland setting.

Most shockingly dreamy of all is the way the women are catered to; the small handful of residents (women, all of them!) have a chef who prepares crazily wonderful dinners for them every night. There are pictures proving how thoroughly stocked the kitchen is with racks of zillions of containers of spices and rows of carefully labeled provisions and specialized pots and pans used to make what appears to be an ABUNDANCE of food every night just for these six or seven women. Meats and comforts and fresh green things and berries and sauces and fanciness and desserts and lots of colors and textures on big plates and side dishes.

On top of all that, the chef ALSO prepares individual baskets for each resident full of her favorite foods to help sustain her throughout the day while she works in her perfect little house. And there’s a garden full of plants someone else tends that each resident gets to pluck and cut flowers and leafy things from. FOR INSPIRATION AND SHIT!

I know that being there wouldn’t be actual utopia, but it does provide a model to ooh and aah over. I think it’s awesome that a very teeny-tiny percentage (wish it were more) of talented women in the world get to experience opportunities like that, to be told that their own self-directed art is so valuable as to warrant a few days . . . maybe even a whole month(!) . . . of concentrating on nothing BUT the work she most wants to do and that she will be sheltered and reliably fed to delicious excess if she likes so she can take care of her work while someone else takes care of her basic needs with sensual generosity.

Same time as picture above, but looking 80 degrees to the south.

What an exquisite fantasy! But it seems so decadent, like I know that I personally could never warrant such treatment. It’s a nice daydream but it actually makes me nervous to think about having such a giant privilege bestowed upon me. I’m nervous enough about the idea of renting this cabin, feeling like I need to prove that I “deserve” it. That I’m worth blowing more money on when I already have so much.

And then I remember that my grandma made my grandpa dinner every night to his specifications. Dished it up and brought it out to him. It wasn’t fancy, but she SERVED him. And every day she fixed him a box lunch even on the days when he was only working in his garage out back, a one minute shuffle away from the back door. I know times have changed, but when I was growing up I never fucking once saw a man prepare and serve a grown woman food. NEVER ONCE outside of restaurants (which I rarely saw) and pancake breakfasts at the Masonic Lodge where it was a wonderful novelty to see the men with aprons on, coming out to the long tables to pour coffee and bring us our hotcakes.

It wasn’t just my family that was like that. Most people my age and older grew up seeing men (and children) waited on at home and women NOT.  I suppose gender-blind egalitarianism is the ideal I should desire (and I do in some ways) but part of me needs to experience the balance of intimate privilege tipped dramatically towards women to undo what I learned by watching. I wasn’t brought up to BE that kind of woman who waits on men — not at all; I wasn’t taught with words to do it  — but that’s what all the women in my family DID to one extent or another and the men DID NOT. You have to be crazy to think that kind of learning is something you can just erase with your intellect when you grow up or even along the way with words of “you-go-girl” encouragement.

Looks promising upwards and eastwards

Even though I never grew up wanting to be a woman who takes care of a man, once I outgrew the entitlement of childhood I came to FEEL that having someone take care of me wasn’t something I deserved or could expect the way a man in my grandparents’ and parents’ generations could and that the only way to live my life just-so, to my specifications, was to live alone. I didn’t think this on a conscious level, but I think the past ten years (and then some) of webwhoring have involved more conscious efforts to recognize and reconcile this conflict; I want to work — to do MY work and do it MY WAY — and have someone else take care of the housekeeping and cooking. For my work to be the most important thing I do and everything else to be relegated to the distraction pile which I should be able to demand someone else pick up and put away. To believe that my work is so important that I should be angry and frustrated when I do not have the tools or environment to do it properly. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT MEN OLDER THAN I AM GREW UP EXPECTING AND DOING. And so what if their work wasn’t important or they would bankrupt the family with their business schemes? You didn’t fucking criticize the work, jobs or dreams of men. You just didn’t unless you wanted to be the evil villainous bitch in the story.

I shouldn’t feel guilty about wanting to have as many places to do my work alone as my grandpa did: a garage, a basement, a toolshed, a closet where he kept his Black Velvet and other private treasures, and a windowless office he hardly went into that nobody else was allowed into that was always at least 15 degrees cooler than the rest of the house. My grandma didn’t have any place in her house that was her own like that, just like my mom didn’t have a special place in our tiny house for herself like my stepdad had a whole room for his model train. And if Grandma fucked up some shit in the kitchen Grandpa would go ballistic on her ass. So I guess maybe I SHOULD feel guilty about wanting all that man-privilege since being an abusive asshole came with the territory. I don’t know. But on Friday morning I’m going to work alone in the cabin AND I CAN HARDLY WAIT!!

Also? I’ve drafted a new personal ad for a slavey-houseboy type. Not putting it up for awhile though as that’s a whole time-consuming process in itself. I also keep wanting to blog more about how going to college totally distorted my idea of money and assessing the worth of an investment in myself, perhaps making me approach financial risk-taking in a more “manly” way than I would have otherwise.

More morning moon pics to come?

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So. I don’t anticipate members and fans seeing a noticeable change in focus on our sites because of this and will probably see more exciting stuff on cam rather than less since we have to cam more to pay for everything. One of the good things (in terms of “earning” my cabin keep) is it’s already making me more disciplined and focused in how I prioritize things, clarifying what needs to come first (which is really REALLY challenging when you have boatloads of everything to do and have an easily-overwhelmed mind like mine). Right now at the top of the list is simply getting ahead on shooting and getting updates lined up, so that’s what I’m going to get back to work on right now.

I know, we keep taking pictures in front of these blue velvet curtains and it’s probably getting old, but they always turn out so good with that classic background, especially with my blond hair and shiny red high heels!

If you like this, you should see me from the FRONT!

I’m not a big fan of long fingernails, but mine grow so quickly that I finally decided to take advantage of them; I got them all lacquered up and ran them through my hairy muff (we also shot a finger/nail fetishy hand job video that I think people will love). There’s something about naturally-long nails and a full bush that is so eighties and earlier, and I like that retro feel. Also, it’s hard enough to find porn with pubic hair these days, and a lot of it is more counter-culture than stereotypically feminine; a lot of our members LIKE those stereotypically feminine touches (nylons and such are kind of our specialty, after all) and old-fashioned beavers so I have a feeling they’ll enjoy the long nail stuff. Not that I plan to make it a habit, but every so often it’s probably a good thing to feature.

Long flame-red fingernails and hairy dirty blonde bush.

You can check out other people’s “Half Nekkid Thursday” pics for this week here (links are in the comments). If you like truly amateur / non-porn-pro stuff, you should definitely check it out. And if you want to see the full set of pictures click here for another free preview and links to join my site!

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Tomorrow (Friday) night I’ll be entertaining in a webcam show (Delia has one earlier), and Saturday we have shows scheduled too plus members-only chat so hope to see you there! We may also be doing pay-to-play shows on Streamate that members can spy on out of the corner of our voyeurcams.

Bug necklace dangling near Trixie's ample cleavage

Delia knows exactly what kind of thoughtful presents to give me; she brought home the most awesome present for me:

Scorpion gift box

Nevermind what’s inside . . . the box is super cool!

Opening my little bug box

Look at the shiny, iridescent beetle necklace my girlfriend got me!!

A symbol of true love!

There is a special reason why this pendant made Delia think of me; once upon a time I was a beetle breeder.

In elementary school I was always interested but totally lost and intimidated when teachers sprang special projects on us like building rockets, making volcanoes or constructing cameras out of milk cartons. It’s like I was always absent on the days that the secret instructions were handed out telling us to bring money for those brown motors or maybe it was always the OTHER class that got to do those things. I think the mealworm project studying beetle life cycles was one of those things the OTHER class got to do that I was totally jealous of.

So I did the mealworm project at home. Purely for fun.

My mom would never let me have a pet snake so I guess bugs were the next best thing. Not that I was ever totally unafraid of spiders and such, and I *hated* moths, but I was also fascinated by insects and all the little dark nooks and crannies and tunnels they could explore.

I consulted with my friend Ruth (she was in the OTHER class) to determine what supplies I needed: jars with airholes, oatmeal, apple chunks. I captured my own beetles from the base of our old apple tree in the backyard. It grossed my out a little, the way they skittered around so quickly, but I viewed overcoming this fear as a healthy challenge and soon grew to enjoy the tiny tickles of their little black legs scurrying up my arm.

I thought my ability to unflinchingly let bugs crawl on me was an enviable trait to cultivate that would impress people, like when nobody else in my class wanted to hold and stroke a small, velvety black slug during a field trip to the zoo. I don’t remember why the fuck this zookeeper was teaching us about slugs, but I do remember feeling that I’d found a niche where I could jump straight to the top. So what if I failed at rockets and wanted to cry on field day? I could save face by being an imperturbable slug and bug handler! Plus I kind of liked making girls scream and giggle.

In no time I was observing beetle life in all of its stages. The alien-looking pupae were the most disturbingly mesmerizing. I had to increase my containers to hold all of my grubs, pupae and mature beetles. I didn’t have enough covered jars so I just used different bowls from our kitchen and loosely covered them with plastic. Pretty soon the bedroom I shared with my sister started to smell like dusty oatmeal and decomposing apples, but in my role as omnipotent overlord of the beetles I could watch the beetles’ frenzied mating. They were exposed and vulnerable, driven by instinct to procreate in the open on beds of Quaker Oats.

They were also developing genetic defects because of inbreeding. This was a lesson the limited research of the OTHER class never got around to learning! I tried introducing new beetles to the population, but the rate of abnormalities increased. Soon there were albino beetles, pupae with black lesions, slow-moving beetles that failed to thrive and aggressive, kamikaze beetles hell-bent on escaping the bowls of oatmeal.

One day I looked at the bowls full of beetles spread all over my desk so close to our beds and was suddenly horrified by them. I could learn no more from them and they were on the verge of mutiny.

I had to get rid of them FAST before they overran the bowls and poured out in black waves (dotted with albino white) all over our bedroom. I pushed open a window and started flinging beetles and oatmeal outside. I couldn’t dump them quickly enough . . . they were trying to climb back up the wall outside to get in and seek revenge! I kept throwing bowl after bowl of beetles in various stages of life out of the window, shrieking when they clung to the bowl and started climbing up my arm. I cruelly flicked them off with my fingernails, trying to launch them as far away from the window as possible.

It would have been perfect if I could’ve graduated to snakes or lizards because then I could have fed my beetles to them instead of wasting them all like that. Once, when I was a little older, my mom got mad at me when I screamed after reaching into a bag of potatoes in our dark pantry and pulling out a few maggots on a damp spud. I wish I’d have had the presence of mind to point out her hypocrisy, having the balls to chastise me for reacting to a handful of maggots on our food when she had a snake phobia precluding me from having the best pet of all: a beautiful legless reptile to hang around my neck while reading.

Busty buglover still wants a snake!!

Believe it or not, this is not my only story about bug-keeping. I’ll try to tell you about my other bug endeavors one of these days. . .

Would you be surprised to hear that I’m genuinely INSPIRED by some women’s personal stories of swinging and/or just seeing them fucking and sucking? Here are a few on my mind lately:

*Our friend Sabrina’s blog, Swinging in the Suburbs. I’ve mentioned it before, but she’s been posting more frequently lately and has the perfect balance of honest reflection and erotic titillation (hello bad boy cop story!), plus some provocative questions to ponder.

*Janet Mason’s site and blog: Janet Exposed. I’m not sure why I’ve never explored her site before – she’s been around online since 1998. Today I dove in and read a lot of stuff on her site and LOVE what she has to say.

Janet Mason loves big black cock!

Janet loves the way dark skin looks against her white skin.

I think reading her FAQs page is the reason why I got very excited about the fat, long cucumber Delia brought home from the store tonight. Yes, it’s a far cry from the giant black cocks Janet loves, but she got me so tuned into craving the phallus that I couldn’t help it. On top of that it’s good to read personal stories from women our age about the effects of stress on maintaining a sexy web presence for over a decade. I don’t mean that I’m happy other people have challenges, it’s just a relief and comfort to read people being honest about them.

*Angelique XXX (also a swinger): I just posted a guest gallery of her in my members-only area after finding some of her photos from her recent pregnancy.

Angelique XXX in tight white tank top & jeans.

Pregnant Angelique squeezing her swollen breasts.

I’ve always admired her French Canadian brand of beauty and was really happy to see the pregnant stuff after hearing awhile back that she initially hadn’t felt sexy pregnant. Again, it’s not that I celebrate the idea of her doing something that she didn’t enjoy; rather I enjoy thinking about the process she might have gone through to arrive at a place where she DID feel sexy (and of course the resulting porn is just HOT, especially to someone like myself who has always had the hots for her — seeing her transformed and expanded like that is erotic and potent to me).

I know, all of these words are very dorky and old-manlike, but they’re part of the truth. The part of the truth that just wants to share some hot mama porn without overthinking it to death.

It’s interesting how excited I get about these women’s portrayals of their sex lives even though I wouldn’t want to have their experiences myself. Not exactly, anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever want to be “filled up” and “stretched” the way some chicks (like Janet) do (I find deep penetration painful; I come faster and more often fucking guys with small cocks), but I do relate completely to being extremely aroused just by the sight of a really REALLY big cock. I’ll never be someone who specifically seeks out “black cock” to fetishize (but yeah, I might have a tiny little bit of an agenda in wanting to have sex with black WOMEN). I don’t think I’ll ever want to invest the amount of time in arranging to meet and fuck so many people (and be all clean and gorgeous and multi-orgasmic while doing it) but I do want a little bit of what they have one of these days, for both Delia and I.

But mostly for Delia. I am more of the husband-with-the-camera type.

Honestly, I *have* meant to write more about the whole open-relationship/swinging thing and my idea of what kind of openness is desirable/ideal to me (and what kinds are NOT). And discuss the whole subject of having stunt cocks/guest “models” to fuck on camera. And what I liked about having multiple sex partners in the past. And why that’s not a big priority for me right now, but I anticipate will be again. Someday . . .

I haven’t seen a cloud in the sky for days, but there’s been plenty of fog around the edges of day and vision. Nothing but blue sky above me this afternoon, but the fog never lifted nearest the water so I could hear foghorns from the ships while I read on a blanket. Foghorns and super-chatty birds. Some even sounded like tiny monkeys.

In a WA Town that's also a Port, Thursday, July 29th, 18:25

I took these pictures right after it left the shore and infiltrated as cold wet smoke. I didn’t get a good photo of what it looks like in motion.

Droopy daisies against a summer fog in July

Miraculously, I didn’t hear a single car alarm, human voice, lawnmower, barking dog, or power tool the entire time. Our neighbor’s fat Siamese tomcat did come stalking through the crunchy grass, though. I think he was pretending not to see me while he played King of the Jungle.

I wonder whose motherfucking dog keeps leaving big-ass turds next to the deer pellets that smell good in the long dead trampled-down grass except for those damned big dog shits keeping them company. Your dog should not be shitting in our yard! It’s probably the dogs of our two neighbors who disturb the peace the most with their noisy construction and yard work. Keep your damned barking labrador shit in your own sacred fucking yard! They probably don’t want to shit in your yards because they can’t even tell its nature there with the grass shorn so short. GIVE IT A REST!!

Tired daisies in the wind. End of July.

But whatever. I shouldn’t take time to notice. I should be inside working instead of outside counting and smelling animal droppings.

Ever since I started doing pay-to-play camming again and my mom came over for a carb-filled visit I’ve been having a hard time accomplishing much. Switching gears is not my forte.

Tomorrow (Friday) and Saturday I’ll be camming again, though, so at least I have a partial agenda and won’t have to rack my brain so hard to figure out the best most wise most efficient use of my time.

I’ve been having a hard time in some respects, but having sex, cuddling, stretching and masturbating keep the edge off.

It’s weird that I haven’t posted more blog entries this month since I’m always blogging in my head. I’d like to have more of a space cushion (distance wise and time wise) in between my head and what I post, though. Actually that’s probably a lot of what’s going on with me lately; having had some days with family members and more interaction on cam, I’ve needed more space to make up for those days/hours of the gap being closed.

The question is whether or not my space cushion is sustainable. I like people and interacting and stuff, but I need a big giant lot of quiet time alone in my head; it takes me ridiculous amounts of time withdrawn from everyone except Delia to recover after social time. I don’t know if I’m ever going to operate at peak unless I retool my job description(s) to take that into consideration.

Warning: this post might gross out some people, so if a certain word in the title makes you uncomfortable, the rest of this entry will probably heighten your discomfort:

I SO enjoyed my nightgown camshow last month (and had an awesome one the day before, too). I wore a long nightie that always makes me feel SO sexy and SO pretty and such a feminine tease. Someone I worked with years ago gave me three Eileen West nightgowns I never ever would have bought for myself, but now that I have them I want a dozen more:

Big Boobs Look Plush Under Pleated Cotton Nightgown

I guess I just really like the feeling of white lengths of cotton flowing all over my body with no panties or bra (like my long white May Day dress).

Pretty lady in long cotton nightgown looks like a sweet mommy tucking you in.

I *especially* like the way these nighties make my jugs look so generous and mobile and soft with the pleats adding more fabric to accentuate them bursting forward. So so ripe and full.

Modest and non-nude, but suggestive and succulent

In my show it was like poetry, talking about being a lady in a long nightgown, and what ladies in long nightgowns like to do and how their pussies get so wet underneath their long long nightgowns. I felt so pretty and iconically feminine, like if Victoria magazine included porn (never gonna happen, I know). Don’t you just want to push that white cotton up-up-up? And see and smell some soft, furry bush?

Free pics of me from a few years ago in a similar night gown: http://www.trixie.com/tgp/Trixie/see-through-nighty

It’s gross I guess, but I also love how skinny my arms and legs look wearing this nightgown. It’s the most feminine interpretation of skinniness, I think. Everything looks so long and pretty and gracefully awkward compared to everything in the middle looking so abundant and juicy.

It made me want to log in to the pay-to-view camsite I’ve been working and make all the boys want me to be their pretty mommy in her modest white nightgown. It’s such a familiar mommy-in-summer look, the soft cotton wafting faded mommy perfume and hugging hands reaching out on long arms to drawn you in. There’s nothing overtly sexual about it except that it’s all ALL all woman, and the modesty is the most naked you might get. A silhouette if the light is right, a sour-sweet stubbly armpit, some long pale leg if she gathers it up a little to step through the dewy lawn to get the paper in the morning.

It’s a look that provokes powerfully confusing strong feelings in a lot of people of both innocent love and taboo lust.

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That day we had more people in members-only chat than we’ve had in MONTHS, which also boosted my spirits terrifically. And really everything started looking up on Thursday when and after we fucked (don’t you think this is true?).

Sleepy mommy-type's big Victorian "dirty pillows"

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If you want to get me a similar nightgown or inexpensive night slip to fill out my pretty mommy wardrobe, I have a couple ON SALE on my wishlist! It would be nice to have a couple of new drowsy sleepytime gowns to wear this summer.

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I hope to blog more later about 1) the camming I’ve been doing and 2) my own shame, discomfort and conflicted feelings about role plays I get off on.

Do wild roses bloom twice in the summer or is this their last gasp?

Are these the last of the wild roses for this season?

Last year was so different; everything blossomed much earlier this year so I can’t count on memories of last year for shooting certain things.

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After my grey-mood of a post last night, Delia and I were talking and realized that during her recovery from surgery we’ve been touch-deprived for over a week. It’s not that we haven’t touched each other at all, but we haven’t gotten our daily doses of cuddling, much less fucking. I mean, there’s really only been one position she can get into in bed and has been in pain most of that time until recently, so that could be contributing to a general condition of malaise. We spent a little time working around it last night, though, and that helped!